The Samaritan's Riches
by Channel D
Summary: Tim McGee stops to help traffic accident victims on the way to work. A wrong decision, when he becomes a victim? Drama written for the winner of an NFA NCIS Hangman contest. Oneshot.


**The Samaritan's Riches**  
by ChannelD

Rated: K+  
Written for the winner of an NFA NCIS Hangman contest.

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_Disclaimer: _I own nothing of NCIS

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When the two cars collided just feet away from him, Tim dropped his umbrella despite the heavy rain and ran into the street. No matter that he would be late to work, that his nice, new Burberry raincoat would get stained from the washed-up sludge of the street; his Italian leather shoes soaked. When people were in trouble, he followed, unquestioningly, his instinct to help.

Cars slowed along M Street to see if there was anything of unsavory interest happening. The incident was barely more than a fender-bender, though: the lead car's tail light broken and fender scratched; the tailing car likewise scratched. The lead car's driver, a young woman wearing a denim jacket and tight designer jeans, got out and stormed on her glittering high heels toward the car behind her. A beefy man, sporting tattoos and long, unkempt hair, looking like an out-of-place biker, was getting out of the second car. He was followed by an equally strong-looking man, shaved head and also tattooed; his passenger.

"What did you think you were doing?!" shrieked the woman, chasing that sentence with several obscenities.

"Are you all okay? Anyone hurt?" Tim called, stepping forward. One foot stepped in a small pothole, getting his foot soaked, and throwing him off balance momentarily.

They paid him no attention. "Well, whaddaya mean, drivin' so slow, lady?" the hairy driver snapped. "Don't'cha think people wanna get to work?"

There came a nagging, like a small warning bell, in the back of Tim's mind. _Something's off here…_

"It's pouring rain, you jerk!" she retorted. "In rain you have to _slow down and add distance!_ You were tailgating me!"

_Something's wrong. What?_

Hairy guy's tone changed. "Aw, you're not gonna call the cops on this, are you? The damage is under $200. We can settle this ourselves."

She looked dubious. "Well, I don't know..."

"Yeah, sure we can." He looked up then, and saw Tim. "Hey, man. C'mere. What do you think the damage on this is?"

Tim went closer, and bent to peer at the damage, not paying much attention to the alignment of the three people. Water ran down his face, his neck; even the handsome, expensive raincoat couldn't keep all this water out. "Well…a tail light replacement piece might be, I don't know, $30? You're just paying for the red plastic; the bulb's still intact. Those scratches—"

"Don't move." .A voice, the second man's, came softly as Tim felt a gun barrel dig into his back.

- - - - -

_How could I have been so stupid?_ Tim thought glumly as the trio shoved him into the backseat of the second car. _Neither of them attempted to exchange insurance information. I was scammed. _A variation on one of the oldest tricks on the highways, and it probably predated cars. A car would rear-end another, causing the first car to pull over to inspect the damage. The driver of the first car would then be robbed, or worse_. Only this was two cars in league with each other, and I was the mark."_

The woman got into the back seat as well, on his right, shoving him uncomfortably to the center, with the skin head, on his left, keeping the gun pointed at him. "What is it you want with me?" Tim asked, trying hard to keep his voice steady as the woman bound his wrists with duct tape.

"You're going to be useful to us, cutie," she said.

"Don't talk to him, Tina," the hairy man ordered as he pulled the car out. "_I'm_ doin' the talkin'."

"But he's _so cute_, Bobby…"

"Shaddup. Buddy, Tina pointed out to us that your clothes are practically dripping money. And we want some of that. I'm sure your family will pay a bundle to get you back safely."

Tim caught his breath, and tried to remain calm. Situations sort of like this had been covered in his advanced training at FLETC. _Stay calm, and assess the situation. Look for a way out. Don't give them any more information than you absolutely have to._

_A _ringingsounded; the theme from _Enterprise_. Skin Head pulled the cell phone off Tim's clip and answered it.

_"McGee!__ Where are you?! You're late!"_

Tim flinched at the sound of Gibbs' voice, but it was Skin Head who answered. "Yo! How you doin', man? Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?! And what are you doing on McGee's phone?!"

"I asked you first. You want your guy back; you're going to have to pay for him. Big bucks, so get on the line to your bank, or your buddy will be pushing up daisies before you know it." He hung up, and turned the phone off.

"_Idiot_!!" Bobby screamed. "How will we find that guy again?!"

"You don't keep up with technology, Bobby. I do. The incoming call phone number is stored in this phone."

"Yeah, well…" Bobby muttered.

_Who's__ the boss here? __Bobby,__ or Skin H__ead? __Clearly Skin H__ead has the brains._

The car lurched as another car, passing, took up part of its lane. throwing Skin Head against Tim, and Tim against Tina.

"What the—?" Skin Head pushed himself upright, then grabbed Tim's raincoat, pulling it open, and doing the same with his sports coat, exposing Tim's holstered gun and the badge on his belt. "Oh, Bobby! We've got serious trouble! This guy's a _fed_!"

Bobby slammed on the brakes, causing the car behind to honk its protest. He swore over it, then gave their car gas. "All right. This guy's a bad mark. We don't wait for a ransom. We'll kill him at the hideout, dispose of the body, and get out of town. I don't want a hundred feds here swarmin' the place, lookin' for us."

Tim kept his mouth shut. He only risked banter when the situation had a glimmer of hope. He didn't see any of that here. _If only, if only…_

_I can't see any way out of this…_

Small irritations. In the warm car, his wet shoes and socks were starting to irritate his feet. Leftover water in his hair dripped down his face, his neck; substitute tears that he couldn't yet shed. _All because…all because I stopped to help…_

The rain came down harder, if that was possible The dark morning turned white as lightening cracked the air seemingly yards before them; a deafening crash of thunder in hot pursuit.

_"Bobby! __Red light!!!"_ Tina screamed.

The car's brakes grabbed for the tires, but couldn't quite find them through the shallow sea of water on the road. Hydroplaning took over, and in the continued bombing of thunder and wild assault of lightning, and screaming of the occupants, the car spun and slid into the path of a truck.

- - - - -

Tim figured he'd been knocked out for only a minute, or maybe not at all, just dazed. The car was still, crumpled, feeling dead. Senses sometimes tell one more than direct observation, and when Tim looked to his right, he saw it wasn't just the car that felt dead. Tina, on the side that had absorbed the impact of the crash, was clearly gone. Even though she had been a criminal, Tim grieved for the loss of a life.

_Don't hesitate…_ Tim nudged Skin Head, appearing conscious but dazed, beside him. "Hey! _HEY_! We have to get out! It isn't safe to stay in here!"

A little light came back into Skin Head's eyes. "Wha—? Tina!!!"

"You can't do anything for her. Come on; this car could explode. Open the door."

"Oh, Tina. Oh, Tina…we were going to get married." He turned to face Tim, and Tim saw blood running down the side of his head. He'd probably hit the window.

"I'm sorry. Open the door, though."

"What about Bobby? He's not moving, either!"

"I know first aid. Maybe I can help him. You, too. But you have to _OPEN THE DOOR!!"_

"Okay, okay." Skin Head pushed it open, then pulled Tim out into the deluge of rain.

"Undo my hands," Tim demanded. "I can't be of any help unless you get this duct tape off me!"

A brief hesitation, then Skin Head cut the tape with his pocket knife. Tim sprang for the driver's door, and yanked Bobby out as flames shot up from the car's hood. Bobby sat down hard on the street, dizzy, before he got up.

_Where is everyone? Weren't there any witnesses? _Tim wondered. _What about the truck driver? Is he, sh__e__, okay?_ Skin Head, he saw, was looking pale. "Sit down," Tim ordered him. "You may have a concussion. Put your head down." Seeing the man shake, Tim took off his raincoat and wrapped it around the man, whose blood was mixing with the rain.

"Brian, you idiot! How did he get free?" Bobby roared, as he got to his feet and grabbed the car to steady himself. "Don't let him get away! _SHOOT HIM!!"_

Tim calculated that Bobby wouldn't be fast enough to grab Skin Head's…Brian's…gun before he drew his own. He hadn't figured on Bobby having one of his own, however. The miscalculation cost Tim.

The fraction of a second had Bobby's shot come off first, before Tim's, but mixed in with the chaos was the super-charged lightning bolt that hit the truck, raced to the car, raced through Bobby's body, the water on the road, and Tim and Brian, to a lesser extent. Tim was sure he was still conscious, though he felt like every nerve in his body was toasted. And that ache in his thigh…that could only be a bullet wound. He felt the world around him growing gray—vision was always the first sense to go—while still hearing tires screech as a vehicle drove up, splashing more water on him. "McGee! _McGee_!"said one familiar voice. "Thank heavens for GPS locators," said another. Comforted, Tim let darkness pull him in.

- - - - -

"I don't think it's a good idea, but this guy really wanted to talk to you before we take him away, McGee."

Tim blinked his eyes open. The painkillers made him a trifle drowsy, but at least the hospital room was warm and dry.

Brian stood between Gibbs and Tony, handcuffed; the bandage on his head showing he'd had some hospital treatment, too. "I just wanted to say thanks, Buddy." Brian looked somewhat regretful. "You could have fled, once your hands were free. Yet you stayed, and tried to save Bobby—too bad he did himself in with his foolishness. You stayed, and you ruined your nice raincoat to help me. You got involved in the first place. We set out to rob you, even kill you, because we figured you had a lot of money. Yet…I'm guessing you're one who'd do it all over again.

"I don't think I can understand rich people like you. But—you saved my life. Thank you for that. And all because you wanted to help, in the first place."

"I'm not rich," Tim said, "I have a few nice things; that's all."

But he thought, as Gibbs and Tony took the man out, _Two__ people are dead, but a third survived. I did something good today. I'm richer than I know._ He closed his eyes, and welcomed sleep.

- .END -


End file.
